


Glow

by yin_again



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Baby, F/M, Fascinated Sherlock, Pregnant John (Jo)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 09:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yin_again/pseuds/yin_again
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, dear...Sherlock accidentally knocks up Fem!John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glow

"Is that a..."

Jo jumped about eight feet in the air at the sound of Sarah's voice. "Yes, it is. Get over here." Her voice brooked no argument, and Sarah moved to her side. Jo took her hand and squeezed. She counted the seconds in her head, then chickened out and slammed her eyes shut.

"Jo?" Sarah said. Jo didn't open her eyes.

"Jo."

"Jo!"

"Can't look," Jo said tightly. "Freaking out."

Sarah sighed. "It's positive. You're pregnant."

Still not opening her eyes, Jo said, "Well, fuck."

***

"Pregnant?" Sherlock said blankly.

Jo spent her whole trip home from work trying to figure out what would be the "best time" to tell Sherlock. Just before she got to Baker Street, she realized that there really wasn't such a thing, and she might as well have texted him for all the difference it would make.

So, she just said it over her shoulder from the kitchen while making tea.

"Yeah," she said, carrying her tea out to the sitting room. "Gravid. With child. Up the duff. In a family way. Pregnant."

Sherlock stayed quiet, a confused look on his face. After a couple of minutes, he said, "No tea for me?"

Jo didn't bother to look up. "Get it yourself; I'm busy gestating over here."

***

For the first two months, Sherlock behaved in the mode of Sherlock-normal, except for a couple of inquiries:

"Will you be out of the bathroom soon?"

"Fuck off."

"Is this morning sickness? It's mid-afternoon."

"Fuck. Off."

And:

"Do we have to stop having sex now you're pregnant?"

"Not right now, Sherlock. I'm pretty busy throwing up right now."

"Oh. Will you be out of the bathroom soon?"

"Fuck off."

She vowed to make him wait a long time. For both the bathroom and sex.

***

It all changed one morning when Jo was standing in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil. She stretched, pulling herself onto her toes, arms over her head, sighing. When she settled back onto her feet, she found Sherlock staring at her. She realized that her shirt had ridden up over the just-barely-showing curve of her belly. She had to smile at the confused-interested-mildly freaked out look on Sherlock's face.

"What?" she said lightly. "You've never seen a pregnant lady's belly?"

Sherlock blinked at her. "No." he said. "I haven't, actually."

Jo poured her tea and rolled her eyes. "Well, come here," she said. He approached her hesitantly. "Oh, for Christ's sake," she said. She pulled her shirt up, grabbed his hand, and placed his palm against her belly. His long fingers cupped the slight swell, covering the entire distance from top to bottom.

Jo drank some more of her tea and waited, amused at the "gathering data" expression on Sherlock's face as he gently touched and prodded her.

"Interesting," he murmured after a few minutes. He stepped back and tugged her top back into place. "It doesn't move yet?"

"Well, it does. We just can't feel it yet. You haven't researched the process?" She was honestly confused. She'd expected that Sherlock would have practically given himself enough information to take a degree in obstetrics.

"Should I have done?" He looked honestly confused.

Jo just shook her head fondly. "Doesn't matter either way. It'll still be coming out in a few months."

He pondered that for a bit. "We get to have sex again before that, right?"

Jo sighed. "We'll see," she said. "Pick up some milk and bread today, and I'll think about it."

When she got home after work, there were three kinds of milk in the fridge and seven types of bread on the counter. She found Sherlock slumped on the couch pretending to read a book, and with a longing look on his face. She jumped him.

***

Jo was amazed that Sherlock managed to not piss her off until the first time they got a case after her "happy announcement".

"Lestrade. Double murder," he said, hanging up the phone. "Back later. Don't wait up." He swept toward the door, only stopping when she stepped directly into his path.

In a low, dangerous voice, Jo said, "And what makes you think I'm not going with you?"

"But, you're..." Sherlock said, gesturing to her belly. "You can't..."

"Are you kidding me?" Jo said, hands on her hips, her jaw set bullishly. "Pregnancy isn't a disease. I can still do the same things. Well, most of them."

"Oh," Sherlock said. "Hurry up, then, and bring your gun."

***

At the crime scene, everyone kept giving her odd looks when the sides of her coat would move with the wind. Jo got sick of it.

"May I have everyone's attention?" She barked out, using her Army voice. Once all the Yarders were staring directly at her, she opened her coat - like a flasher - and exposed the jumper-covered bump at her abdomen. She pointed at it. "Baby," she said, as if speaking to a third-grade class. She pointed at Sherlock. "Father." She had a thought. "Oh," she said, pointing back at her belly. "Conceived in the usual way, not an experiment. Can we work now?"

Over the next couple of hours, Jo overheard several conversations that made her hide smiles - and a few outright giggles - behind her hand.

"Sherlock, she shouldn't be out here. A crime scene's no place for a woman in her delicate condition," Lestrade said worriedly.

"Pregnancy isn't a disease," Sherlock replied. "Jo's a doctor. She knows if she has any limitations."

"Okay," Lestrade said slowly. "Aren't you concerned? Does this even mean anything to you? Are you happy about it?"

"Hm," Sherlock said, as if thinking about it for the first time. "It is pretty impressive, isn't it," he said. "I've created a person."

Lestrade patted him on the shoulder. "Well, mate, don't let her hear you say you did it all yourself. My wife would've had my balls if I'd said something like that with either of our kids."

"You're married?"

***

"You aren't thinking of using it as a lab specimen, are you?" Anderson demanded. "I know it'll have half your DNA, but I better not hear about you doing anything untoward to it."

"That's a stupid idea," Sherlock said haughtily. "Besides, why do you care?"

Anderson rolled his eyes. "Because I'm a parent, you arse."

"You've spawned?"

***

"If you disappoint her in any way, I'll know," Sally said, standing behind his shoulder and speaking quietly. "If you fuck this up, Sherlock, you'll regret it."

Sherlock blinked and swallowed hard. "Erm...point taken."

***

Jo rubbed her eyes, vowing to remember every single word of what she'd overheard.

Sherlock stepped up behind her and snaked one arm around her waist to lay his hand onto her belly. He leaned in close, his lips next to her ear. "People seem to find me unqualified for this undertaking," he said.

Jo put her hand over his and tilted her head to press lightly against him. "You'll do fine," she said. "I have every faith in you."

Sherlock stood very, very still, except that his hand pressed a little harder on her belly. "You do? Why?"

She turned her head and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Oh, love," she said. "It'll be fine." And if anybody had anything to say about the uncharacteristic display of affection - on either of their parts - she'd blame it on hormones.

"Jo," Sherlock said, sounding shocked. "You love me?"

***

"Sherlock," Jo said impatiently. "You do not have to tell every stranger we meet that I'm pregnant. People can tell that I'm pregnant. They can tell easily. From 10 feet away. You also don't need to inform them that you're the father."

"Whyever not?" Sherlock said. "I don't want them to think that you've been with anyone but me."

Jo sighed, watching Sally lead a man away. "That's sweet, Sherlock, but you don't need to tell the criminals we're in the process of apprehending."

"Whyever not?" Sherlock repeated.

***

Sherlock sat on the sofa and fussed with his dressing gown. He looked up when Jo walked (waddled) into the room.

"If we die, who should we designate as guardian, Harry? Mycroft?"

Jo burst into tears.

"So, not Mycroft?"

***

"There's a baby head sticking out of your vagina," Sherlock observed. "Does the rest come out soon?"

"Yeah, right...fucking...now," Jo said, as the last big contraction hit her. A moment later, she heard a squall and fell back against the pillow, sucking in huge breaths.

Sherlock - his hair a bird's nest and a look of pure wonder on his face - gazed up at her from between her raised knees. "It's male," he said. "When can we start trying to make a female one?"

 

They generally kept the flat’s door slightly ajar – Mrs. Hudson was in and out, bringing food and drinks and generally clucking over the three of them. Sherlock seemed to be okay with it, just as long as Mrs. Hudson didn’t try to take the baby away from him.

Sherlock was, in a word, besotted. He had tried to argue that the baby should have his last name, which Jo quickly vetoed. He had then held out for the right to pick out the first and middle names. Against her better judgment, she’d let him wheedle his way into choosing the first name. As a hole card she’d reserved the right to the middle name, knowing that if Sherlock decided on some batshit-insane Holmes name, they could default to the child’s middle name: John.

Sherlock named him MacRowan. Jo sighed and covered her face with her hand, but then Sherlock explained that MacRowa _tt_ was one of the names associated with the Watson clan, but that he’d found the name more pleasing as MacRowan. So, there he was: Rowan Watson – Rowan Watson whom Jo had to fight to get her hands onto. Sherlock had fallen hard and completely for his son.

There was a quiet knock at the door, followed by a familiar silver head. “Drugs bust again, Lestrade?” Sherlock said cuttingly from the window, where he was quietly reading a hematology text to Rowan. “We might have some Baby Tylenol around, and I think they gave Jo some painkillers for her positively grisly stitches.”

Jo threw Sherlock a look, because, really – her episiotomy _had_ to be considered private information. Sherlock glared at Lestrade and half-turned his body away from the door as if protecting his cub from predators.

Lestrade flushed, but didn’t step into the room. “No,” he said quietly. “No drugs bust – we just came to see the baby.”

“We?” Sherlock said, just as Jo waved Lestrade in. Lestrade and Donovan and _Anderson_.

Sherlock turned his body completely away from the door as soon as he saw Anderson.

“Hi, guys,” Jo said. “Have a seat. Don’t mind Sherlock, he’s just lost his mind a little. Sherlock, bring the kid over here.”

“I have to go change him,” Sherlock said huffily, and turned toward the bedroom.

“You just changed him ten minutes…” Jo said before realizing that Sherlock was long gone. She turned to her guests. “He’s feeling a little…”

“Insane?” Sally said.

“Overwhelmed?” Lestrade said.

“Possessive,” Anderson said. “I was the same way.”

“Christ on a cross,” Jo said. “Don’t tell him that!” Anderson hid a smile. Jo heard the baby fussing from the other room. “Sherlock, he’s hungry. Bring him in here. I _am_ the one with the breasts, after all.”

Sherlock came back into the sitting room, sighing loudly. He resentfully handed Rowan to Jo, but stayed standing at her side, all but looming over all of them.

“Oh!” Sally squealed. “He’s adorable – can I hold him?”

“No,” Sherlock said. He tried to step between the baby and Sally, and only subsided when Jo kicked him in the shin.

Rowan’s fussing got a bit louder, and Jo’s hand went to the buttons of her shirt. She had two buttons undone before she remembered the others. “Oh, if breastfeeding freaks you out, you might want to avert your eyes,” she said.

Sherlock took Rowan from her, then moved back into the corner of the couch. Jo settled between his legs, and Sherlock placed Rowan back in her arms. The baby made a happy sound as he latched on, and Jo leaned back against Sherlock, who wrapped his arms around her, one curling under to help support the baby, the other lying on Jo’s thigh, his head hooked over her shoulder to gaze at his son.

She’d gotten used to Sherlock being weird about everything, but she liked this weirdness best of all. He was warm and strong against her back, his hand eased the pressure on her elbow, and sitting in the shelter of his body made her feel…safe, loved.

She glanced up to see the others staring in open-mouthed surprise. “Not…a…word,” she mouthed at them. None of them were going to take this away from Sherlock with some sort of sarcastic remark. If Sherlock was going all “mama bear” over Rowan, she was going to do the same thing, but over both of them. Sherlock was – probably for the first time in his life – wholly in love with someone, and Jo would be damned if _anybody_ was going to fuck with that.

After a few moments, she pushed Rowan away gently, and Sherlock scooped him up to burp him. Rowan gave a hearty belch, and Sherlock placed him back into Jo’s arms in the perfect position to nurse on the other side. It was a well-choreographed process.

When Rowan finished nursing, Jo was sleepily surprised to see Sherlock toss a cloth to Lestrade, and then lift Rowan from her arms and hand him across. She felt Sherlock then do up her shirt and pull her against his chest. “Oxytocin, prolactin,” she heard Sherlock’s voice rumble.

When she woke, the three of them were alone – Sherlock had tucked Rowan up against Jo’s chest and had his arms securely around both of them. He and Rowan were fast asleep, so Jo just snuggled back in.


End file.
